Feb 19, 2014
But it feels like it is.

I started this blog over a year ago, and titled it 'Finding Lost Things' because that was the journey I had started - a journey to find all the things I had lost while suffering from depression in my teenage years. I had expected the blog to be filled with wondrous and inspiring self-discovery, delivered through creative photos and prose; it would be a beautifully crafted anthology of pieces, dedicated to life, joy, and recovery.

And now, I want to smash my computer screen and fill the cracks with these endless tears.

Fuck depression, fuck anxiety, and fuck relapses. This blog is not what I wanted it to be, namely because I'M not where or who I want to be. I'm numb, and if I'm not numb, I'm scared. I can't decide if the depression or anxiety is more insufferable.

I mentioned before - all the 'blah blah blah' about not being ungrateful for what I have, etc, and people will often say 'be careful what you wish for', so let me be clear: This is not a 'wish', it is merely how I feel. And how I feel is raw, and real (though it may not be 'truth') and completely and totally fucked up -

I would rather suffer a painful and chronic physical illness, than this mental mind-fuckery. And don't think that if I only knew such a thing that I would change my mind - I wouldn't. I have had my own share of chronic physical issues - asthma, hayfever, sinusitis (all of which play off each other), vertigo, astigmatism, TMJ disorder - some worse than others, some diseases, some symptoms of whatever else is going on. The vertigo and TMJD are probably connected somehow to the stress.

My point being, in this feeling, is that throughout all of these physical issues, I have always had hope. That simple yet strong lifeline. Hope has gotten me through some very dark spaces. Hope has helped me survive. Hope has allowed me to keep smiling, dreaming, and acting even when my body doesn't want to cooperate entirely.

Do you know what depression and anxiety do? They steal your hope, your joy, your energy and zest, they steal your dreams and your passion and peace. They steal it all and lock it away in a taunting box, then dangle that box right in front of your face to remind you what they've stolen.
'You could unlock this box' they say, 'you could have your joy back, but you know it won't last long. You know you're worthless, and a liar, and will never achieve anything. You know you're going to fail and fall to pieces, you know everyone you love will turn their backs on you at some point. Try and unlock this box and get out your creativity while we remind you of everyone who has ever left you, while we remind you of everyone who is better than you. Go on, it's right there, just take it.'

I'm left with this restless lethargy - I need to do something other than sit on this couch, but there's simply nothing I can think of doing, nothing I want to do, nothing I can stick to. The amount of concentration simply to write this is physically taxing and even still I'm all over the place.

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I have a bunch of childhood pictures on my fridge. And I see this little me, so filled with hopes and dreams and goals and laughter, and I think 'FUCK you depression, fuck you anxiety, fuck you shit-humans who screwed that little girl over and sent her into a lifetime of fear and doubt, who can't trust or be intimate, who is so uncertain of every little step even when the path is laid right out for her. I'm so sorry to that girl because I lost her hope; I wasn't strong enough to keep it.

I thought I was done with this black dog, but it seems this time to have sunk its teeth to the bone.

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Just trying to figure this whole thing out and getting it wrong along the way.
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